And there alas ! and lack-a-day!
Beneath some pine I'll pine away-

Heigho ! heigho !

manom

THE GARLAND OF LOVE. How sweet are the fowers that grow by yon fountain,

And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove, And sweet is the breeze that blows o'er the mountain,

But sweeter by far is the lat that I love.
I'll weave a gay garland, a fresh blooming garland,
With lillies and roses and sweet blooming posies,

To give to the lad my heart,my heart,tells me I love. It was down in the glade where sweet Larza gliding,

In murmuring streams ripple through the dark grove, I own’d what I felt, all my passions confining,

To cease the fond sigh for the lad that I love.
Then I'll weave, &c.

WILL YOU COME TO THE BOWER? WILL you come to the bow'r I have shaded for you, Your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew;

Will you, will you, will you, will you,

Come to the bow'r ? There under the bow'r on soft roses you lie, With a blush on your cheek but a smile in your eye,

Will you, will you, &c.

Smile my belov'd ?
But the roses we press shall not rival your lip,
Nor the dew be so sweet as the kisses we'll sip.

Will you, will you, &c.

Kiss me, my love?
And O! for the joys that are sweeter than dew,
From languishing roses or kisses from you.

Will you, will you, &c.
Won't you my love?

CHERRY-CHEEK PATTY. Down in yon village I live so snug, They call me Giles the ploughman's boy; Through words and o'er stiles, as I trudge many miles, I whistle, I whistle, and whoop, gee woo, Jerry. My work being done, to the lawn there I fly, Where the lads at the lasses all look very sly; And I’ze deeply in love with a girl, it is true, And I know what I know, but I munna tell you But I'll whistle, I'll whistle, for of all the girls I e'er

did see, 0, cherry-cheek Patty for me. Though the squire so great, so happy may'nt be As poor simple Giles the ploughman's boy ; No matters of state ever addle my pate, But I'll whistle, I'll whistle,and whoop, gee woo, Jerry. Now cherry-cheek Patty she lives in a vale, Whom I help'd o’er the style with her milking pail; And Patty has a like notion for me, it is true, And I know what I know, but I munna tell you :

But I'll whistle, &c. I’ze able and strong, and willing to work, And when the lark rises off tradges I; The cows up I call, and harness old Ball, I whistle, I whistle, and whoop, gee woo, Jerry. Then I’ze fifty good shillings, my luck has been such, And a lad's not be grinned at that's gotten so much: And when that l'ın married to Patty so true, I know what I know, but munna tell you :

But I'll whistle, &c.

MORGIANA.
AK! what is the bosom's commotion,
. In a sea of suspense while 'tis tost !

While the heart in our passion's wild ocean

Feels even hope's anchor is lost,
Morgiana, thou art my dearest,

For thee have I languish'd, and griev'd !
And when hope to my bosom was nearest,

How oft has that hope been deceiv'd.
Morgiana, my hope was deceiv'd.
The storm of despair is blown over,

No more by its vapor depress'd ;
I laugh at the clouds of a lover,

With the sunshine of joy in my breast.
Love made by a parent my duty,

To the wish of my heart now arrived
I bend to the power of beauty,

And ev'ry fond hope is reviv'd.
Morgiana, my hope is reviv’d.'

ELIZA.
THE shadows of eve 'gan to steal o'er the plain,
• To Eliza my heart I confess'd,
Love sanction’d the moment, she smil'd on my pain,

On her lip a soft kiss I impress'd; .
I saw her warm cheek like heav'n's canopy glow,

When Aurora empurples the morn;
She loves me, oh ! Heav'n, let me never forego,

The faith on her lips I have sworn.
This bosom though fervid with youth and with health,

In all else shall persuasion control;
Bid me fly from the charms of ambition and wealth,

Or the joys of the bright sparkling bowl:
But Eliza, dear maid ! till in earth Im laid low,

In my heart shall her image be borne,
While she loves me, by Heav'n, I will never forego

The faith on her lips I have sworn

THE BEAUTIFUL MAID. WHEN absent from her whom my soul holds most dear

What a n.edley of passions invade!
In this bosom what anguish, what hope and wbat fear,

I endure for my beautiful maid !
In vain I seek pleasure to lighten my grief,

Or quit the gay throng for the shade,
Nor retirement nor solitude yield me relief,

When away from my beautiful maid.

I'D BE A BUTTERFLY. I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower,

Where roses, and lillies, and violets meet; Roving forever from flower to flower,

And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet. I'd never languish for wealth or for power,

I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet; I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower,

Kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet, I'd be a butterfly, I'd be a butterfly,

Kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet.
Oh, could I pilfer the wand of a fairy,

I'd have a pair of those beautiful wings;
Their summer day's ramble is sportive and airy,

They sleep in a rose when the nightingale sings Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary,

Power, alas ! nought but misery brings ; I'd be a butterfly, sportive and airy,

Rock'd in a rose when the nightingale sings, I'd be a butterfly, I'd be a butterfly,

Rock'd in a rose when the nightingale sings. What, tho' you tell me each gay little rover

Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day: Surely t’is better when summer is over,

To die when all fair things are fading away;

Some in life's winter may toil to discover

Means of procuring a weary delay. I'd be a butterfly, living a rover,

Dying when fair things are fading away. I'd be a butierfiy, I'd be a butterfly,

Dying when fair things are fading away.

I'LL LOVE THEE EVER DEARLY. Let others breathe the melting sigh,

And swear they love to madness;
To them I leave the tearful eye,

And all love's sober sadness.
No tender vows and pray’rs are mine,

But this I swear sincerely,
While truth and honest love are thine,

I'll love thee ever dearly.
Then lady, though I scorn the wiles

Which love too oft discovers,
Ne'er spurn the heart that woos in smiles,

For smiles are made for lovers.
And though no iender vows are mine,

Yet this I swear sincerely,
While truth and honest love are thine,

I'll love thee ever dearly.

I CANNOT STAY A MINUTE.
Now where so fast ? a young man said

To her he lov’d, one day,
When she, with blushes, turn'd her head,

And cried, don't stop me, pray;
But why this hurry? he replied,

As blithe as any linnet;
Yet still the pretty Emma cried,

I cannot stay a minute.

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